City of Stories
by Allibella731
Summary: 100 insights into the lives of various characters. Drabble-style stories inspired by music and the Mortal Instruments. Walk with Simon, Clary, Magnus, Alec, Isabelle, the Lightwoods Jace, Sebastian, Jocelyn, countless Downworlders, and many others through the streets of the City of Stories. See snapshots of different characters' lives throughout the story. All canon.
1. Apologize

"_And you say sorry like the angel heaven let me think was you…but I'm afraid it's too late to apologize."_

—_Apologize, OneRepublic_

**Simon Lewis, City of Bones **

The night was turning an inky blue as the light left the sky. Simon buttoned up his coat, unsure of where he was going. Every face he passed was Clary, her green eyes shining with tears, apologies pouring from her mouth, or Jace, golden-haired and arrogant, a condescending sneer decorating his obnoxiously perfect face…

_I'm so sorry… _But for once, he didn't want to hear it. For the first time, it wasn't "okay, okay, as long as I get the last pop-tart." For the first time, it wasn't just about the two of them. It was about Jace, who came into Clary's life and swept her right off her feet the way Simon never seemed to be able to do. It was about the fact that no apology could change the way she looked at the golden-haired Shadowhunter.

His entire life, Clary had been his closest companion, especially after Becky left for college. She was almost too good to be true—his perfect match in every way, complete with that adorable, nerdy beauty. But after fifteen years of knowing her and loving her, God had suddenly decided that she was too good for Simon, too good for the world she grew up in. She was part _angel_. Angel blood ran in her veins, like in every other Shadowhunter. For fifteen years, Simon had thought she was just another (wonderful) girl. Now he knew better. Of course she was too good to be true.

With a groan, Simon sank down onto a park bench. He knew he would make it up with Clary eventually—he needed her too much. But he also knew they could never be the same, because there were some things impossible to apologize for, impossible to forgive. It wasn't her fault, but it was too late to take it back. He felt sick to his stomach, his heart pounding unnaturally fast, clutched by the realization that she would never be able to walk away from that other boy. No matter what she said or what she tried, she would never be able to let him go. And Simon, who had been her best friend for years and years, would always be second place. No apology could ever fix that.


	2. Runaway

"_Did you ever think about running away? 'Cause I was thinking about leaving today…Then things might change for the good…"_

_-Runaway, 3 Doors Down_

**Jocelyn Morgenstern, Pre-City of Bones**

She knew she had to leave. She hastily packed an extra shirt, a few more skirts, jewelry (wrapped carefully), and—after a moment of hesitation—a small wooden box inlaid with the initials _J.C._

The bag was small, but it was everything she would need. Valentine wouldn't be back for at least another few hours, giving Jocelyn time to hide the bag and visit Lucian. She swallowed down revulsion as visions of tortured Downworlders danced through her mind. Skin peeling away from a vampire's face, the little whimpers of pain brought on only by prolonged exposure to silver for a werewolf, a huddled and spasming faerie, oozing dark blood from iron-induced wounds, a sheaf of papers headed with her own name…Jocelyn sank onto the floor and put her head in her knees to avoid vomiting. She wished she could be anywhere but the Manor—anywhere she might be able to escape the pain and the psychotic _thing _she called "husband". She had to get out. Ragnor Fell would help her—the warlock had been her friend for years, since she was a child, and more recently had shown her to Lucian in return for information about the Circle. She could trust him to protect the new baby growing inside of her. At least Valentine didn't know. At least her tea wasn't spiked with demon poison. Despite the horrors in the basement, she felt better than she had in months, and the nightmares were slowly receding. They had only gotten worse when she had been pregnant with Jonathon. Yes, she felt much healthier. Healthy enough to run. It was not long before she was handing her bag to Ragnor, securing a promise of its safety, and running out to meet her best friend.

"Lucian!" she cried, and threw her arms around the young man, her first real smile in almost a week crossing her face. They sat in Ragnor's herb garden while the green-tinted warlock retreated inside. Never one to beat around the bush, Jocelyn was sharing her plans in minutes.

"I want to run away, Luke. Haven't you ever wanted to just get out? My feet want to carry me far away, where I won't be touched by Valentine or the Circle or the Clave. I want to _leave_, Luke. I want a better life for the baby, and a better life for myself." Luke was silent for a moment, a plethora of emotions crossing his face.

"Luke? _Luke_?" Jocelyn was worried by his lack of response. Shouldn't he be happy? Shouldn't he want this as much as she did? Yes, there were a few small issues in the plan, which wasn't really a plan at all, but the restlessness and fear were driving her insane.

"Jocelyn, you can't just run off now. Eventually, maybe, but certainly not when we need you most. When were you planning on leaving?" There was something in his voice, something guarded and not altogether happy. Jocelyn leapt off the bench she was sitting on and started pacing, the way she always did whenever she was impatient or frustrated.

"I don't know…today? Tomorrow? Right now?" She ran a pale hand through her dark red hair, and spun around to face Lucian again.

"You can't, Jocelyn, and you know it as well as I do. We need your information, and Valentine will track you down no matter where you go…" Jocelyn cut him off with a wave of her hand, grimacing in acceptance. _I know, _she thought. _I know I can't. I know it's illogical. _

But she still wanted to run.

**A/N: Eh, I liked the first one better. Oh well. Thanks to Antha32 and the ticking clock for the motivating reviews! Some of this information is taken from the extra Jocelyn's Story, on Cassandra Clare's website. Please review and tell me what you think!**


	3. Skinny Love

"_Starin' at the sink of blood and crushed veneer…" _

—_Skinny Love, Bon Iver_

**Jace Herondale, City of Fallen Angels**

Nobody ever used the old bathroom down the hall from the training center. There was a newer one, a nicer one. This one had a drip that nobody seemed to be able to fix. When they were twelve, Jace, Alec and Isabelle had all tried to shut off the faucet, but the drip wouldn't stop. Jace had pulled so hard, he'd broken the tap and the sink had become useless. Nobody bothered to get it repaired. After all, there _was_ a new one. But Jace felt a sense of grudging respect for the faucet. It was impervious to the efforts of everyone around it, unlike him. He kept blacking out, having dreams, losing himself. He could _see_ the "other Jace" when the mark on his chest flared up and he was locked outside of his own mind, unable to prevent his own actions. And now he was terrified to sleep, to dream, and so he had come up to the abandoned place, craving the solitude. But standing in front of the porcelain and the dusty mirror, he was suddenly furious at the damn thing. He lashed out with his fist, cracking the delicate ceramic, pushing shards of it into the sink, where the persistent drip continued. He punched it again, slicing open his knuckles. He didn't feel the pain, but he saw the dark red blood stain the glassy veneer. He let out a muffled groan, leaning on his elbows, lacing his bloody hands across the back of his neck. Splinters of ceramic dug into his skin, and he could feel it this time. He welcomed the pain, because he could deal with physical pain. He could deal with splinters and cuts across his hands. He couldn't deal with the weakness he felt inside.

Jace stared down at the crushed sink, or what was left of it, and the dripping water slowly turning the dark red blood into a clearer substance. Moonlight streamed through the sheer curtains on the window, outlining everything in pale light and shadows. Porcelain, glass…they were so easy to destroy, but they were also sharp. Destroying them was hurting him. But he didn't care about the sluggish stream of blood winding down his arms from his fingers, joining the destruction in the sink. It was the glass inside that really hurt him. His own decisions, which cut him deeper than any glass. The careful veneer of control and competence he drew around him, thinly veiling a complete vulnerability. Now the veneer was cracking, like the porcelain in the sink, and he couldn't staunch the bleeding it caused. He screamed, muffling the sound with his shirt, careful not to wake anyone. Because if anyone came up to the old bathroom, there would be no way for him to hide. Not when his veneer was crushed down to powder.

**A/N: Thanks Antha32 and Angel5899 for the reviews. Also, the ticking clock, I'm not doing straight-up prompts, I'm using song lyrics, but I tried to make this one correspond to the suggestion blood-stained glass. I hope to put in all of them one way or another, and thanks for your review, too. I had a really clear image that I tried to write, and I hope it came off well. The version of Skinny Love I listened to was the cover by Birdy.**


	4. Miss Independent

"_Miss Independent, Miss Unafraid, Miss On-Her-Own…Decided not to miss out on true love…What is this feelin' takin' over?"_

—_Miss Independent, Kelly Clarkson_

**Isabelle Lightwood, City of Lost Souls**

Isabelle Lightwood had never really needed anybody, and she was proud of that. She was independent, and she loved it that way. _In_-dependent. Not-dependent—on anything but herself. She was a fearless fighter, and she could kill any demon that came her way. Well, maybe she sometimes needed Jace, or Alec, but they needed her too, and that made it co-dependence rather than straight-up-dependence. Co-dependence was alright, she supposed. As long as it was Jace, who was a better fighter than even her, or Alec, who was her big brother. But she didn't _really _need anyone…at least, she hadn't ever really needed anyone before. But ever since Clary Fray stepped in front of that demon in Pandemonium and turned all of their lives upside-down, Isabelle had been less on-her-own and more part-of-the-team. She didn't dislike teamwork; she respected it, but sometimes a girl just wants to stand up on her own two feet and tear a demon to shreds without worrying about protecting (or being protected by) other people.

Underneath the badass-sexy-fighter personality she was so proud of, Isabelle was only a teenage girl. She thought she was grown up, and maybe she was close to that, but she was still sometimes insecure. Nobody made her more aware of that insecurity than Simon Lewis. Isabelle just didn't get it: what made the geeky vampire (who was closer to Clary than he was to her and seemingly immune to what Jace mockingly referred to as her "feminine wiles") so damn attractive? Not in the classic way—he _was_ kind of hot, actually, but she'd seen better—but he still made her embarrassed and vulnerable where more "attractive" guys didn't, and Isabelle had the very distinct feeling he didn't know it.

Still, the weakness scared her; scared _her_, Isabelle Lightwood, who risked her life practically ever day. It was an unfamiliar feeling, and probably best left alone. But she was Isabelle Lightwood, a firm believer in facing her fears and meddling with things "probably best left alone". So she asked Simon to stay with her overnight, and even though she claimed non-exclusivity, she didn't go on other dates and barely even _flirted_ with other guys. The thought of Simon going on dates with that werewolf bitch Maia Roberts made her blood run hot and her muscles tighten in a protective and completely foreign way.

Sometimes she wondered if she was taking it too fast, even though they hadn't even _done _anything, because he was knocking down her emotional walls with a metaphorical wrecking ball and she was in way too deep with the vampire. Most of the time, though, she just plowed on with typical Isabelle fearlessness. She wasn't going to miss the chance to have something she really wanted, no matter how scared it made her. Other times she just wondered what was going on, because Isabelle had never really believed in true love, and this felt a little too close to that.

For the first time, Isabelle realized sometimes the bravest thing to do wasn't to remain independent, but to become co-dependent (or maybe even straight-up-dependent) on someone else. Maybe that made her even more of a fighter.

**A/N: If none of you know the song, listen to it, because it is 100% pure Isabelle Lightwood. I just love it, and I've been waiting to write this. **


	5. Dark Blue Tennessee

"_He's just on the other side of town, with his head in his hands…saying "missing you like this is such sweet sorrow, won't you come back to me? I'll be here today and here tomorrow…"_

_-Dark Blue Tennessee, Taylor Swift_

**Magnus Bane, Post-City of Lost Souls**

The living room had gone through twenty-three new styles, everything from Victorian to disco, but it all felt wrong. No matter how much furniture he put in, it was horribly empty, and the echo of a shy and heartbreakingly handsome Shadowhunter haunted the whole apartment. Even Chairman Meow was losing his energy. Magnus considered getting a new cat, but he wasn't stupid. No cat could replace Alec. The warlock buried himself deeper into his covers, looking for the warmth that had long since disappeared and the scent that faded weeks ago. Had it only been three weeks? It felt like forever. In all of his years on the Earth, three weeks had never taken so long for Magnus Bane.

He'd done the right thing…he couldn't have a boyfriend who didn't trust him and used him at the same time. It was just plain wrong. But everything in his life screamed "Alec", and all he did was lay around, listless and empty. He wanted to see another dull, moth-eaten sweater draped carefully over his chair, even though he had always yelled at Alec for them. His hair drooped constantly, despite the copious amount of spray he used. Glitter was too bright, colors too vivid. Half the clothes in his closet held memories he didn't want to face. He ended up dressing in cravats, waistcoats or military dress some days—the clothes he hated, the ones he never wore with Alec. Magnus was falling apart.

It didn't make sense, though. _He _had initiated the breakup, so why did he miss the other boy so much? He wanted to call Alec, just to hear his voice. To say "I miss you. I miss you so bad it hurts. I know I said goodbye, but I'm still waiting for you to come home. Why haven't you come home?" Headaches and exhaustion plagued him constantly, but he felt a restless desire to escape the confines of his apartment. He slept uneasily, reaching for something that was no longer there, wanting desperately to feel the warmth of human contact.

He started one-hundred-sixty-four letters, telling Alec everything he wished he could have said. All but sixteen begged the Shadowhunter to come back, and more than half were stained with tears and glitter (before glitter became taboo). On top of the memories, there was the pain, and on top of that, there was the guilt. The fact that Alec was less than half an hour away only made things worse. What had happened to them? When had flamboyant Magnus Bane degenerated into Magnus Bane the red-eyed and listless? He would catch himself looking for Alec outside his window, counting days and hours and even minutes, delivering long speeches of love and apology to Chairman Meow, who usually ignored him…

The simple truth was that Magnus missed Alec more than anything. And after everything, he was still waiting for his blue-eyed boy to come back.

**I couldn't end it right. I couldn't really capture it right either, but the feel of the song is what I really want. Eventually, I'll write something I'm happy with. Thanks to Antha32 and the ticking clock for your reviews, and don't be afraid to leave ideas in your reviews! I promise, I'll eventually write something happy…maybe...**


	6. Mary's Song

"_Take me back to the house with the backyard tree…take me back when our world was one block wide…just two kids, you and I…"_

_-Taylor Swift, Mary's Song (Oh My, My, My)_

**Clary Fray, Pre-City of Bones**

"_Simon_? _Simon_?" Clary Fray called, checking under Luke's bushes and behind the large (and useless) flowerpots Luke kept. The only thing they were good for was Hide-and-Seek, but Simon wasn't there either.

"Come on, Simon, it's been ten minutes already! I _know_ you're not in the house!" Clary's skinny, pale arms pushed through some particularly hideous flowers, but the leaves hid nobody. The seven-year-old wiped her forehead, tired of the summer heat. Suddenly, there was a rustle, and her large green eyes shot to the large mulberry tree in the corner of the yard.

"SIMON! I see you!" she cried, running towards the tree. Looking up, she spotted Simon, with a guilty expression and a purple-stained face. Clary had just reached for the lowest branch (which was relatively high for her, considering her tiny stature) when Simon slid off his branch onto the fence post and then into the small drive behind Luke's yard.

"Cheater! Get back here, you scoundrel!" Clary wasn't quite sure what "scoundrel" meant, but she had read it in a book, and it sounded impressive. The sound of Simon's laugh floated over the fence, and Clary dashed to the gate, trying to unlock it. She stumbled through the door, but Simon was almost a block ahead now, looking back to see if Clary was coming after him. Clary pounded down the road, and Simon took off running. Clary was faster, but Simon had a significant head start, so they had run a complete square around Luke's house by the time Clary caught onto Simon's shirt. Both were gasping and Clary's freckled face was bright red with exertion. Simon stumbled, her grip on him momentarily making him lose his bearings, and fell flat onto his face. Exhausted but exultant, Clary whooped in triumph.

"Got ya, you little sneak," she panted happily.

"Aaaghhh…"moaned Simon, his face still pressed against the pavement, his new glasses knocked off his head onto the road next to him. Clary prodded his limp form with her sneaker, and he groaned.

"Did you hear me? I won," Clary told him, irritated by his lack of reaction. He made another noise of pain, and she rolled him onto his back, then shrieked and ran into the house at the sight of his bloody nose.

"Mom, mom! Simon's dying," the young girl began, looking out the window at Simon. Jocelyn and Luke leapt up from the kitchen table and raced out front, where Simon was sitting up and clutching his nose. "But I won," continued Clary in a more cheerful tone, unaware that the adults had left.

Simon would look back at that day and groan about how Clary broke his nose. It came up sometimes in their conversations—often, the boy used it for leverage ("You owe me. You broke my nose")—but after they turned fourteen, and Simon accidentally sprained her ankle, it rarely came up again. Years later, Clary would look back and think about how she had been so proud of her win, even though she had thought he was dying. Despite that, it was a good memory (she _had_ won, after all), and when her world started to fracture into pieces and was remade as something completely different, she still held on to the memory of being just a kid with her best friend. This memory, among others, always felt like home.

**So, something sweet for the readers, because everything else is angst. Thanks to Jenny Lightwood, Antha32 and the ticking clock (I will do Lightwood banter eventually, but I hope this works in the meantime) for the reviews. I love reviews! I also love imagining little Clary and Simon. Awww, they're so cute. Also, the music selection will eventually vary—I have some Rise Against, some Ludo, some Death Cab for Cutie, some…well, I'm not going to spoil it all, but the point is, it's not all Taylor Swift. **


	7. Somebody That I Used to Know

"_You said that you could let it go, that I wouldn't catch you hung up on somebody that you used to know…"_

_-Gotye, Somebody That I Used to Know_

**Maryse Lightwood, Pre-City of Bones**

He hadn't seen her. He couldn't possibly know that she knew. But he did know, and she was somehow certain of it. Maryse wasn't sure if she would have felt better or worse if it hadn't been _Annamarie Highsmith_, who Robert had often kissed during their school years—before he started dating Maryse. It had almost been a joke when they got engaged: too bad for poor Annamarie, who was so hung up on him. Robert had laughed, and so had she, because _of course_ he had let it go. Of course he was faithful to her. Annamarie had been long forgotten by her…she was never in the Circle, never really part of politics. She was intelligent, at least to some degree, but fully satisfied to let the men shoulder the decisions. She had moved to New York after completing school in Idris, and apparently Robert had seen her at Conclave (or possibly even Clave—she did spend a lot of time in Idris, it seemed) meetings and reconnected. Maryse wasn't supposed to have seen what she did—it was a party she had told Robert she wouldn't attend (she had been feeling ill and needed to check something), and she had only changed her mind when she had discovered what she had hoped would be a welcome surprise. After all, Maryse rarely attended parties in New York; she had little enough time with her children as it was. Robert hadn't seen her, but then again, he never really looked at her anymore.

If Maryse had spared a single thought toward Annamarie Highsmith, she would have rolled her eyes: what a weak woman. But Robert, apparently, saw something in that woman—maybe it was her nice figure or soft fingers (Maryse eyed her own work-borne calluses, calluses she had always been proud of, because they proved she was a _fighter_)—or maybe she provided scintillating conversation. Maryse snorted. There was obviously not much _conversation_ taking place. If it had been a nameless, faceless stranger, would it have hurt less? It wouldn't have had the horrible irony to it, certainly, but it would mean that Robert was out looking for people when Maryse wasn't with him. Actively searching for someone new. At least with Annamarie Highsmith, there was a possibility that she had reinstated a pre-existing relationship. And Maryse had never even thought about it.

But that didn't make it better. How could that possibly make it better? How could it help, when now there was a possibility that the affair had lasted for _years_, that Robert really had gotten hung up on the green-eyed blonde. Maryse wanted to scream and rage and shout, to hit Robert and break all ten of little Annamarie Highsmith's soft white fingers, to break down and cry. She did none of those things, despite the temptation. She didn't even sniffle. She had to hold it together for the sake of Alec and Isabelle, who didn't need divorced or fighting parents on their plates. They were already stuck in the damn Institute every day of their lives. She needed to hold it together because hurting Annamarie would only reinforce whatever horrible reasons Robert had for walking away from her, and would ruin any chance of getting him back. She hated herself for it, but she still loved him. And she had to hold it together because of the positive pregnancy tests lying on the bathroom sink at home. She couldn't make it better, but she could still hold it together.

**Okay, I hope you like this. Thanks to blue-eyed-fantasies, Guest, and the ticking clock for the reviews, and I'm sorry I was absent all week. I was at camp, and didn't get a chance to write. On the bright side, I learned some accordion. Robert's relationship with Annamarie is never really described, but we know that Isabelle didn't know about her, so she wasn't famous or a Circle member. Her Shadowhunter wiki says she was part of the New York Conclave, and to fit the lyrics I made her Robert's old girlfriend. What do you guys think? Too forced? Too weird?**


	8. Fifteen

"_And then you're on your very first date and he's got a car and you're feelin' like flying…'Cause when you're fifteen and somebody tells you they love you, you're gonna believe them…"_

—_Taylor Swift, Fifteen_

**Maia Roberts, Pre-City of Bones**

His hands were shaking so badly he could barely open the glove compartment to put the gold hoops in. It was so sweet, she thought, that he cared so much. The compartment snapped shut at last, and in the silence that followed, Maia wondered if Jordan could hear her heartbeat speeding up. It wasn't the first time she had kissed anyone, of course not, but Jordan was different. He was…he was _beautiful_, a beautiful little hipster boy, skinny and handsome, with long eyelashes and hair that covered his forehead. Maia reached out to brush the hair away, and he caught her wrist and pulled her in.

Somehow, his obvious nerves didn't detract from the experience. He was beautiful and he wanted her (_her_!) and he had his own car…it was cliché but still incredible. She felt like she could fly. Maybe she could. It was their first time kissing, but it was perfectly familiar, a routine they had performed countless times, something basic and instinctive.

"I think I love you," Jordan whispered. In the darkness of the car, with his hand cradling her face, it was perfectly believable. He treated her like a princess, something nobody she had ever known had done. He held open doors and paid for her movie tickets, and he gave her chocolates—the good kind, the Godiva or Ghirardelli pieces. When he said "I think I love you," she did believe it. It didn't matter that it had only been a few weeks, because a few weeks can be forever for a teenager.

It felt like drinking hot chocolate in the cold: warmth seeped into her, spreading down her entire body. "I think I love you, too," she whispered back, smiling against his mouth.

**Short, but sweet (hopefully). I had to put this out today, because it's my fifteenth birthday! Yay! It just seemed appropriate. A-hem. I hope you like it. I keep getting random happy music stuck in my head—the beginning of the Sesame St. theme (don't worry, it's been years since I watched it), Gotta Get Back to Hogwarts, and that song from the Lowe's commercial about sunshine. Birthdays are a blast. : ) **


	9. Everybody Talks

"_I found out that everybody talks too much…It started with a whisper, and that was when I kissed her…and then she made my lips hurt. I can't hear the chit-chat…"_

—_Neon Trees, Everybody Talks_

**Simon Lewis, Post-City of Lost Souls**

"You should just shut up now, Simon," Isabelle's voice was amused as she lay next to him on her bed.

"I didn't invite you in to hear about _Star Trek_." She let out a low laugh, and Simon abruptly stopped speaking, his expression mortified. Isabelle leaned in close, her dark hair brushing his neck, putting her lips right against his ear, loving the little shiver she felt running through him.

"I'll tell you a secret," she whispered. "I've already seen _every single movie_. All _eleven_." Simon let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a moan and rolled over toward her.

"You are _so_ my kind of girl," he grinned, leaning down to kiss her. Loud voices in the corridor made his head snap up, momentarily distracting him. It sounded like an argument—did those voices belong to Mr. and Mrs. Lightwood? Isabelle, offended by his lack of attention, lifted her head to meet his and bit his lower lip, an impish smile on her face.

"Ow! Isabelle, what the hell? Did you just _bite_ me?" Simon's eyes met hers again, but he wasn't angry.

"Poor Simon. I guess I'll have to kiss it better, now," she sighed dramatically, dark eyes sparkling. Simon nodded mournfully, feigning injury. Isabelle pulled him down and the conversation outside the door disappeared for him. Hours later, their hair mussed, their lips numb, Simon looked at Isabelle and declared,

"You would suck as a nurse. Don't quit your day job," Isabelle sat up against the headboard, surprised and a little offended.

"Excuse me? Do I insult what _you _like to do?" After a second, she couldn't keep a straight face, and both of them dissolved into laughter.

"I'll cut you a deal. I won't go into medicine if you quit _Millenium Lint_," she giggled.

"Hey! We're called—"

"Oh shut up, Simon. You talk too much." And she kissed him again, effectively ending the conversation.

**My first fluff, I think. I got a request for Sizzy (I didn't have any planned until Chapter 16, but I put this in), and everything felt too serious, so I decided to put this in. Sizzy—or Simabelle, as I call them—is special to me. Probably because my name is Isabella Simon. : ). Thanks , Lyza K, and isfpkitten for the reviews. I'd love to get feedback or requests of songs or ideas. Thanks for reading!**


	10. Iris

"_And I don't want the world to see me, 'cause I don't think that they'd understand. When everything's made to be broken, I just want you to know who I am…"_

_-The Goo Goo Dolls, Iris_

**Alec Lightwood, City of Glass**

He kissed Magnus in front of the entire world. Well, not everybody in the world, but everyone in _his_ world—parents, friends, peers, adults he respected and some he didn't—everyone in the great big hall in Alicante. He kissed Magnus in front of everyone, even though he was scared, and nervous, and insecure. He didn't want to make out with another boy—man, really—especially not a Downworlder, because he knew the way Shadowhunters felt about being different. They didn't _understand _different. They wanted to shove it in the closet and smile like there were no skeletons hiding behind the locked door. Alec didn't grow up in Alicante, but he knew the attitude. He'd visited Idris enough. He'd even seen it in his own parents. Different is unnatural. Unnatural is wrong. Don't be different.

Alec had tried not to be different. He'd always been shy, but since realizing he was gay, he'd tried desperately to blend into the background. He was good at fighting—especially with the bow—but he wasn't like Jace. He didn't want to stick out like Jace, or like Isabelle. Isabelle was impossible to miss: a glittering, blazing badass beauty, but Alec didn't want that. He wanted to sink into his dull sweaters, to hide from the world. If he was unseen, he would remain neutral in everyone's eyes. Nobody would judge him. Nobody would even know he was different.

Meeting Magnus changed things. Magnus was flamboyant, a unique and completely sexy mix of punk and rainbow, embracing his difference, not hiding it. If people didn't understand Magnus, that was their problem. _Bitch, please. In the wise words of Dr. Seuss, "__Be who you are and say what you feel because those who mind don't matter and those who matter don't mind." _Magnus loved Dr. Seuss. It was weird, especially to Alec, but Magnus would look him in the eyes, tell him a few words, and squeeze his hand whenever Alec was feeling anxious or frustrated. It calmed him down.

"Those who matter don't mind," Alec whispered, in the moment after the kiss. If the world (well, not the whole world, but _his _world) was going to end, and everyone was going to march into battle and maybe die, Alec wanted Magnus—and everyone else—to know who he was. To see that he was different, but not ashamed. Even if nobody else could see, he knew that Magnus did. And that was what counted. Magnus leaned in and murmured into Alec's ear, "_Today you are you, that is truer than true. There is no one alive who is Youer than you._"

**Okay, I wrote this as a request (someone wanted Alec), and I'm kind of liking it. I love the way the song fits. It's a great song (thanks Antha32 for recommending it for me ), and it fits kind of a lot of characters. I also love Dr. Seuss. He is full of wisdom. Just look up his quotes. You'll be amazed. I was amazed. : ). Everyone should go read Antha32's story, Gravity. It's about Maryse and it rocks.**

**Thanks so much to IamTheMarsian, isfpkitten, Antha32, Lyza K, FloridaGirl, and Blue eyed fantasies for the awesome reviews! You guys (and my amazing scarlet hipster pants ;)) have put me in a great mood. I hope you like it!**


	11. How to Save a Life

"_He will do one of two things—he will admit to everything, or he'll say he's just not the same and you'll begin to wonder why you came. Where did I go wrong, I lost a friend, somewhere along in the bitterness…"_

_-The Fray, How to Save A Life_

**Jocelyn Morgenstern, Pre-City of Bones**

She dawdled in the hall outside her room, torn between a desire to confront Valentine and a dread of his response. Usually, she wasn't the type to dawdle: she was fierce, independent, impatient, but Valentine had a way of bringing out fear in her.

Valentine used to bring out her tenderness; she was softest when they were alone together. He also brought out fire, when he wanted to. He could convince her of anything. He had convinced her of so many things. Now, she was guarded, because she knew better. How had she ever believed that Luke (her best friend, Valentine's second-in-command) had killed himself? How had she followed without question as Valentine had raged against Downworlders? She _knew_ Luke. He would never commit suicide like that. She was beginning to believe she didn't know Valentine at all.

_Stop dawdling_, she chastised herself, pushing open the heavy wooden door. Valentine was standing in front of the window, his broad shoulders silhouetted against the glass. He turned, and his handsome face broke into a smile.

"Jocelyn!" he said, gesturing for her to join him. He was in a good mood today, she noticed. Those were becoming more rare as the days dragged on. She tried not to let her hesitation show as she joined him, resisting the urge to shudder as his arm circled her waist. This was the time. She had to ask.

"Valentine…I've heard rumors. Rumors of werewolves," she began. His arm stiffened around her, but she ploughed on. "Rumors of a new pack leader, one who used to be a Shadowhunter…" She let the sentence dangle, waiting desperately for a response. Valentines smile morphed into a tight frown and he looked at her with disapproval.

"Jocelyn, my love, you can't believe those rumors. Who has been spreading such lies? No good Shadowhunter would ever, _ever_ sink to such a level. I know Luke was your friend. He was mine, too. But if he had any honor at all, he has most certainly killed himself. He was a man of honor, was he not? I am sure he has done the right thing."

She tried not to let her horror show in her voice as she replied. "Of course, they were just rumors. Nothing but idle talk." Disappointment spread through her like poison. What had she expected? Did she really thing he would be glad of the rumors? Why had she even come? After a few moments, she murmured an excuse and slipped out from under his arm.

"Valentine?" she asked, as she left. One last question. One last chance. "I've been having nightmares. Is there anything going on, do you think?" He smiled again, but it was much colder than his earlier smile.

"Of course not, my love. It's just the pregnancy. It's nothing." She turned away from him, sickened. She knew there was something going on. She had woken up with a bruise on her stomach, and no baby left bruises.

Jocelyn, not for the first time, regretted her relationship with Valentine. He was slowly becoming more and more dedicated to eradicating Downworlders, not leading a movement of political change. The ideals of the Circle had been twisted, and Jocelyn had even lost her best friend. Her eyes prickled with tears as she left the room, but she tried desperately to hold them in. Valentine could not see her cry. The moment the door shut, they escaped, tears of bitterness and frustration and sorrow. She hated her helplessness. She hated Valentine's cruelty. She hated Luke's distance. The hopes she had nurtured were crumbling as fast as her love for Valentine. She hoped her resolve to stay strong would hold up better.

**Damn, why can't I write anything not-depressing about Jocelyn. God, it's just like the other one. Oh well. THIRTY-THREE REVIEWS! Thanks so much to isfpkitten, xBlownxAwayx, IamTheMarsian, BetterinBlack, Blue eyed fantasies, FloridaGirl, Antha32, Lyza K, and the ticking clock. You guys are the best. Reviews are like ooey-gooey chocolate chip cookies hot out of the oven. **

**Please, let me know what you want and what you think. I have a wide variety planned, for a lot of different characters. **


	12. Ponytail Parades

"_It doesn't feel right…Scares me to think, that you find takers other than me. Better than me…"_

—_Emery, The Ponytail Parades_

**Jace Morganstern, City of Ashes**

He was a nerd. He wasn't handsome, or athletic, or dangerous. Honestly, he had all the sexual appeal of a pencil sharpener. But she still fell asleep with him every night—and yes, Jace knew they weren't having sex, but still—and she still kissed him and laughed with him and pushed him around in a flirty way.

It was all wrong. It was absolutely wrong…he _knew_ it was wrong. Simon should have been her brother. She couldn't love him. Not like Jace loved her. Jace was not perfect. He allowed himself to indulge in jealousy, and pettiness, and snide remarks. It was easier to scorn their relationship than to tell everyone the truth: he was absolutely and completely head-over-heels in love (not in a brotherly way) with Clary. Labels that defined their relationship had no bearing on his emotions. But it wasn't _supposed _to be like that! Jace had never had trouble attracting girls. Not until Clary.

Insecurities were difficult things. They wormed their way in, and once the seeds were planted, they couldn't be eradicated. Beneath his arrogant front, Jace's insecurities were growing, taking root, finding the cracks and slithering through them like vines. What if she really _did___love Simon? What if she didn't want a moody, arrogant, Shadowhunter? What if she wanted Simon Lewis? What if she wanted to spend her days snickering at bad jokes and feeling utterly and completely comfortable? She _wanted_ to have manga marathons with Simon, and watch anime and bad sci-fi TV, and share inside jokes and lounge on his couch in her loose-in-the-most-innocently-enticing-way sweaters and shorts. She didn't want to get attacked by demons, and be alternately pushed away and pulled close by Jace. Of course she didn't. Why would she? She was his _sister_, damn it. He remembered seeing her outside the coffee shop, telling her "_declarations of love amuse me. Especially when unrequited_." Well, the tables had turned. The irony was almost funny.

Jace thought he didn't want to believe it, but the truth was, he did. He wanted to believe that Clary was happier, because he wanted her to be happy. He was not perfect, but he wanted, more than anything, for Clary to be happy. Of course he was jealous. Of course he wanted her to love him as much as he loved her. He even thought she did. But beneath these feelings, he wanted Clary to have a chance to move on, even when he couldn't. Simon could be good to her. He could be better than Jace.

**It's a little depressing, but I love the song. The acoustic version. Not all the lyrics fit, but I love the emotion. I think Jace had a lot of super-complicated feelings about Clary during her brief romance with Simon. We saw his pain and even his jealousy. We saw his vulnerability. And even though we didn't really see everything I wrote, I honestly think Jace (as much as he hated Simon) would've wanted Clary to have a happy life, even without him. Thanks so much to Antha32 and Lyza K for the reviews. They keep me going, especially now that school has started again (ick). PLEASE REVIEW! All requests will eventually be put in, but it's going to be a 100-chapter story, so some people have to wait. **


	13. Generation

"_I'm sick of all this waiting, and people telling me what I should be...I do what everybody wants to…That's my generation!"_

—_Simple Plan, Generation_

**Clary Fray, City of Lost Souls**

The zippers were zipped, the bright red hair pulled up, the boots laced…Clary was ready to go. She was pacing the confines of the room in Magnus' apartment, working herself into a frustrated panic.

_Clary, wait here. Clary, the search is on low priority. Clary, be a good girl and go to your room. Clary, this is dangerous. Clary, you can't handle dangerous. Clary, you're practically grown up, but you still have to be treated like a child. Clary, be a good little girl and let the adults talk about it…Clary, Jace is missing. Look at things realistically. We can't keep looking for him forever._

But she could keep looking. She _would_, even if it took forever. She wanted to be out looking. She wanted to find Jace, but it was like her mother had pulled a thick, woolen blanket over her head, and it was oppressing her, stifling her. She wasn't a child anymore! She didn't need the blanket. She needed freedom. Clary had never been able to handle authority well. Like every teenager, she automatically wanted to do what she shouldn't—what she couldn't. _Clary, sweetie, don't touch the stove. It's hot…_ But she touched it anyway, because the word 'hot' meant nothing to her. It was the burn she remembered. The burn that was supposed to teach her a lesson. _Clary, why did you do that?! I told you it was hot! Here, run it under the tap. Really, Clary…_All she knew was that sometimes you had to live through the burn to understand what it meant. Knowing and understanding were two different things. She knew what being in love was, but she hadn't understood it until she experienced it with Jace. And now it was burning her up, and she had to find him.

Because she learned the wrong lesson all those years ago (or was it the right one?): sometimes it hurts, but you have to do it anyway. You have to get burned to know what it means. You have to get burned to know how good cool water can feel on your skin. You have to get burned sometimes, and it will help you in the long run. You have to learn lessons the hard way, because otherwise you won't learn them at all. You have to fall in love, even when it breaks you up. Because otherwise, you'll never know what it feels like to wrap your arms around someone who fits you perfectly and fold yourself into that someone and melt into his or her kiss until you're like a puddle, but at the same time, on fire. She didn't hurt herself on purpose, or stick her fingers in fires, but she wasn't afraid of taking risks. Jocelyn had been trying to teach her to listen to instructions, but Clary never learned that way.

Now, nobody was letting her take risks. Especially not her mother. As if Jocelyn hadn't done dangerous things! The frustration was killing Clary, and she was ready to go. She didn't need the approval of her mother: she knew she had the unspoken approval of her friends. They would be worried, but they would want her to go. That was her generation. That was what it meant to be a teenager, to love someone, to care enough to throw caution to the wind…it meant that you didn't tell someone to sit down and stay away from the fire. It meant you let them do what they needed to do to get the job done. And she was going to get the job done. She had to. She was part of a generation of do-ers, a generation of people who took risks did stupid things. But also a generation of people who threw themselves into life and _lived _more fiercely, and pushed all the envelopes and felt their passions all the more strongly. That was her generation. That was who she was. She opened the portal and stepped through.

**Well, I'm not quite sure what that was. It kind of spilled out…um, this was not supposed to be contemplation on the lives and minds of teenagers. Um, what if I got it wrong? Oh well. Thanks so much to Lyza K, isfpkitten, dewikaka, Blue eyed fantasies, and floridaGirl (yes, he would ;)) for the awesome reviews! PLEASE, everyone, reviews are pure motivation. I need some opinions on this chapter, because it's kind of really weird. And also, I don't think falling in love is like burning your finger. I don't think you regret it the same way, but I think the general lesson of needing to feel something to get it (and needing to learn things the hard way) applies to both.**


	14. Popular

"_I'll show you what shoes to wear, how to fix your hair...everything that really counts…"_

_-Wicked: The Musical, Popular_

**Magnus Bane, City of Ashes**

"First thing's first, sweetheart. Lose those awful sweaters." They both laughed, Alec's a self-conscious, slightly uncomfortable laugh, Magnus' an exuberant one.

"I'm just kidding. Not really." He honestly couldn't help himself from smiling. Everything about Alec just made him light up. He wasn't insensitive. He knew Alec was slightly awkward and very shy, but Magnus didn't want to control himself. If he was going to date the Shadowhunter, he was going to go all the way. No cutting corners. Even if it made Alec nervous.

"But they're comfy," Alec responded, and Magnus quirked a beautifully manicured eyebrow at him.

"Beauty is pain." This time, Alec just rolled his eyes, already catching on to the way Magnus spoke. It was only their first date, but they were quickly becoming extraordinarily comfortable with each other. Alec had never clicked with anyone like this, and, well, Magnus hadn't had anyone for…a while. It was nice to begin again, and there was something special about Alec. Maybe it was the black-hair-blue-eyes combo. Maybe it was just the way Alec had of talking, and listening, and moving, and _being_.

"Oh, and while I'm handing out advice…you would look stunning in silver-accented combat boots. I'd gel up your hair a little streak it with silver and gold. You'd look absolutely killer. Or we could add some metallic makeup and outfit you in your gear, and you'd rock the Avenging Angel look whenever you went out demon-hunting." Magnus winked, and Alec found himself smiling back, despite his horror at the idea of makeup and dyed hair.

"Somehow, Magnus, I don't think that's quite the look I'm going for. As impressed as I'm sure the demons would be, I think my "unobtrusive, stealthy" vibe might be a bit disrupted by those fashion ideas." Magnus shook his head in mock mournfulness, slurping a bit of his blood orange (which may or may not have contained actual blood) smoothie.

"Look, sweetheart, what's more important: sneaking up on and killing the demon you're after, or having the perfect outfit. Wait, don't answer that. We both know it's the outfit that really counts." And they laughed again, easy and untroubled. Alec was unsure if he was going a little mad or falling head over heels. Maybe both. Either way, he was surprised to realize how good it felt. And for some reason, even though they were so radically different, Magnus could connect to Alec on a whole different level. A level deeper than the clothes they wore or their hobbies—the kind of level that really counted.

**A/N: Hello, lovely readers. Fear not, I am still alive. I know it's been forever, but there's this terrible thing called "school" that's been dragging me down. **** Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and I hope so much to get new reviews. They literally make my life. I figured that since TLBD and TLAT were both updated, and Taylor Swift's new album (Red) was out, I should get my own contributions out there. Enjoy!**


	15. Life Less Frightening

"_Time again I have found myself stuttering  
Foundations pulled out from under me…__I don't ask for much, oh, truth be told I'd settle for a life less frightening, a life less frightening."_

_-Rise Against, Life Less Frightening_

**Simon Lewis, City of Bones**

Clary was gone. Again. He was left in the stupid car while she and her infinitely cooler (more dangerous, charming, handsome, and ridiculously cliché) new friends ran in to do…stuff. Whatever that meant. Stuff that he was too dorky and too mundane to understand. Simon wanted to punch something, except that he would probably hurt his hand, not being the 'iron-fisted, chisel-featured' _Jace Wayland_. Of course he didn't understand! His normal, nerdy, comfortable life had been completely pulled out from under him, leaving him in this strange, fantasy world he couldn't really cope with, where his best friend was some kind of special _non-human_ demon-fighter! He didn't belong in this! He was a fifteen-year-old Jewish band geek whose idea of a great time was a weekend with his cat and some video games. While Clary rose to the occasion and pulled out superpowers Simon hadn't known she possessed, Simon was left stuttering in a corner, unable to understand what the heck was going down around him.

Why couldn't everything just go back to normal? Hadn't Clary been happy? He had been happy. He didn't need to be special or cool or even particularly attractive. He didn't need_ Lawn Chair Crisis _to succeed, or his mom to stop nagging him, or his cat to stop shedding all over his semi-clean t-shirts, or any other girls (_cough, Isabelle Lightwood, cough_) to notice him. He just needed a life he understood, where he wasn't in danger and his best friend didn't run all over the city risking her life and flirting with another guy. God, he was such a wimp. He glanced back at the bow and quiver of arrows in the back seat, remembering how well he'd done at archery in camp. Of course, compared to expert fighters, his carefully aimed, specific targets were probably nothing. Child's play. Which fit, he supposed, because he _was_ just a child. He didn't know anything.

Just then, there came a Clary-sounding shriek and a tinkle of broken glass. Simon's breath hitched and he stared for a second at the bow and arrows. Clary was in danger. He was out of his depth. He grabbed the gear. It didn't look like his life was going to get any less frightening in the future, so he might as well not be the stuttering dunce in the corner the whole time.

**A-hem. Not the most eloquent ending. Oh well. I figured there was nothing like Early-Simon-Angst to get me ready for finals. "WOOHOO! FINALS! YEAH!" –Said Nobody Ever**

**Thanks so much to Sam for reviewing, and everyone else, take her fabulous lead and DROP ME A NOTE BECAUSE THOSE THINGS MAKE MY LIFE! Sorry, a million sorry's for taking forever and a day to finally get this tiny thing out. **

**Reviews are Simon as Robin Hood!**


	16. Boyfriend

"_And if I was your boyfriend, I'd never let you go…Keep you on my arm, girl, you'd never be alone…"_

_-Justin Bieber, Boyfriend_

**Sebastian Morgenstern, City of Lost Souls**

They would be so good together. She had to feel it. The very air stirred when she was around, and he could feel his temperature rise. They were both agile and intelligent, with darkness inside them and a subtlety unmatched by Jace, his half-brother. Clary wasn't made for Jonathon's open, yet tortured nature. She wasn't designed to "fix" someone and bring out their goodness. She was made to be as beautiful and terrible as a raging fire, not hold and heal the pathetic angel-boy. She was made complete him, not to be a slave of the morality of the world. She was made to destroy…to stand beside him as the world burned.

Who was Jace "Lightwood" to take her away from him? He was weak, he was nothing, he was no match for the fire that was Clarissa Morgenstern. If Sebastian was there, in Jonathon's shoes, he would not treat Clary so casually. He would never leave her alone. He would hold her always close, mindful, of course, of her fiery nature. His sister and he would never need to be apart. Separation fostered independence, and Sebastian knew that Clary could never be allowed independence until he owned her completely. He would bring out the darkness inside her, and teach her to love him. And he would never let her go.

There was darkness in his mind that Sebastian knew he could grow in Clary's. She was so strong. Such strength must be put to use. And why save a corrupt world, full of bumbling idiots trying desperately to hold onto a moral code created by society purely to give people the illusions of safety and equality? In the new world, the weak would get no aid. In the new world, Clary would be queen. Of course, he would stand beside her, teaching her to harden her heart and to show no mercy. And she would blaze hotter than any fire. But Sebastian knew he was so cold that even she couldn't hurt him. They would be fire and ice together, the greatest power the world had ever known.

But first he had to get her. Before he could turn her into what she was meant to be, he had to break her spirit, to crush her stubbornly defiant ideas about honor and family and love. _He_ was her family. It was time he was given the loyalty due to him. Yes, Sebastian thought, they could be wonderful together. Perfect. When he owned her fire, the world would be his. A sadistic smile warped his face as he stared at his sister through lowered lids. _You're mine_.

**Nice and light there, right? I tried to get inside the messed-up mind of Sebastian Morgenstern. Tell me if I got it right, yeah? By the way, unlike most chapters, don't go listen to the song. I hate Justin Bieber. I hate this song. But I also hate Sebastian, so I figured it was appropriate. Only "JBiebs" probably lacks the mental complexity required for world takeover. And thanks so much for the people who put me on story alert, but especially to AngelofAir and Antha32 who reviewed. Could I get more reviews? To show me someone's actually reading these things?**

**Reviews are Clary kicking Sebastian's ass. **


	17. For the First Time

"_Smiling but we're close to tears, even after all these years, we just now get the feeling that we're meeting for the first time…"_

_-The Script, For the First Time_

**The Lightwoods, Post-City of Lost Souls**

"Anyone who can be around him without dying is a worthy warrior," Jace was saying, waggling his eyebrows at Isabelle, who swatted him with a pillow.

"Oh shut up. You just _wish_ Simon was in love with you," she responded.

"But he _is _in love with me…" and all five of them laughed, and Maryse snuggled closer to Robert, comfortable because of the heat of the fire and the bodies around her and the wine she had consumed. Robert looked down at her, noticing how the light painted her skin warm and golden, and how the dark hair was streaked a little with grey he hadn't remembered. He listened as his children bantered, wondering how he had become a stranger in his own house. These children that he had spent years and years with—laughed and cried and taught and disciplined and loved—were new people. It was as if he was meeting them for the first time. Guilt welled up in him, guilt for not being there, for not knowing his own family.

Isabelle stared at her father, the smile slipping a little from her face. She tried to keep it up, desperate to keep the bitter, angry thoughts from ruining the moment that had been created. She didn't know if she wanted to cry or to hit him. But he smiled at her, and there was affection and love in his eyes, and she couldn't help but smile back. After all, he was her dad.

Alec noticed the exchange, and turned almost instinctively away from his father, who had treated his confession that he was gay with shock and even horror. He didn't need to see the disappointment on his father's face, which lingered long after the news had faded into the back of most people's minds. But, to his surprise, his dad wasn't looking at him like he was ashamed. He was looking at him with pride.

Did any of them really, truly know each other? Did any of them understand what drove the others, what kept them going long after they might have fallen_?_ Maryse felt tears prick in the corner of her eyes at the thought. _Do I even know my own family?_ But Jace made a witty retort, and the tears turned to laughter, an almost desperate laughter. It hadn't even been that funny, but they all laughed. It was better than crying, and if they didn't laugh, she was sure they would cry. They had more reason to cry than laugh, after all.

But there _was_ reason to laugh. And so they did, enjoying the feeling of really learning about each other for the first time in a long time.

**This one was for 'the ticking clock' and her prompt suggestion "laughter and tears". I hope you like it. It was surprisingly hard. Thanks so much to Antha32 and dewikaka for the reviews! If any of my old readers are still hanging on with me, please drop a line. I'd LOVE to hear from you guys! Please tell me I haven't lost my touch! Thanks in advance. ;) **


	18. I'm Just a Kid

"_I'm just a kid, and I know that it's not fair. Nobody cares 'cause I'm alone and the world is having more fun than me tonight."_

_-Simple Plan, I'm Just a Kid_

**Max Lightwood, City of Bones**

He _was_ big enough. He was ten years old! Jace had been Marked by the time he was ten, and there wasn't anyone Max admired more than Jace Wayland. When he grew up (to the ripe old age of seventeen), he would be just like him. But for now, Max was left in the Institute, given a stupid, boring book to read by Hodge, and forced to stay behind as the others all went out on demon-hunting adventures.

Why did he always have to miss out on all the fun? It wasn't fair. He wasn't a baby anymore. He wished his parents would let him fight or face real demons. He wanted a bow and a quiver of arrows, like Alec, or at least a whip like Isabelle. But what he wanted more than anything was a Seraph blade, like Jace.

Max flopped into an armchair, sulking and glaring at the pages of the book—_A Short History of Famous Nephilim_. It was anything but short. So far, of the two biographies he had actually gotten through, neither had featured a hero forced to stay home for most of his life. They had all gotten out, and learned by practicing on demons. Max desperately wanted that. He was a big kid—or so he thought. He groaned and threw the book at the wall. At Hodge's reproachful stare, he grumbled but got to his feet and returned the thick tome to its shelf.

"I'm going to go read manga instead," he announced firmly, and stomped out of the library. But even his anime couldn't hold his interest. He needed companionship. As much as he loved Church, the cat just wasn't cutting it for him. Despite having three older siblings, Max always felt alone. Maybe that was why he was so desperate to go demon hunting with the others. It wasn't that he was particularly big, or strong (he knew he wasn't), but he wanted to be with Jace, Alec, and Isabelle. Being so much younger meant he was the child destined to be protected most by the parents and included least by the older siblings. He hated it. He _hated _being the youngest. He _hated _being alone all the time, and missing out on all the fun. Max lay face down on his bead, _Bleach _lying forgotten on the covers next to him, and he tried not to cry from the injustice of it all.

_One day, _he thought. _One day, I'll be the best demon hunter the world has ever seen._

**A/N: Short, but I didn't want to drag it out. BECAUSE HE **_**ISN'T**_** GOING TO GROW UUUUUPPPP! *sniffle*. Um, yeah, thanks very much to the ticking clock, dewikaka, Guest, and squirrel for the reviews. I really do appreciate them. They make my day. =)**

**Reviews are Max growing up and not dying.**


	19. Love Like This

"_And you've got a way with breaking hearts… 'cause you're a real fast girl…They say that love's a bitch, well read my lips, I've waited all my life for a bitch like this…for a love like this…"_

_-The Summer Set, Love Like This_

**Isabelle Lightwood, City of Fallen Angels**

"Wow. Isabelle, you're kind of a bitch," he said. She rolled her eyes.

"Well, what else was I supposed to tell him? He was trying to pick me up. And he didn't even know my name—thought I was called _Chelsea_ or something." The man she'd told off, one who was clearly hammered, stumbled away mournfully, moaning about his lost love, and something that sounded a little like his "artichoke heart". Well, he _was _trashed.

"Hey, you broke his heart," Simon teased, his brown eyes bright with humor.

"Oh, is that what he said? I thought he was talking about artichokes." Isabelle ignored her boyfriend's weird look.

"Anyway, you should be glad. I didn't think you would have wanted me to go along with some dickhead trying to pick me up."

"Hey, I meant it as a compliment. Have I ever told you how much I love your bitchiness? I think it's sexy." She laughed and leaned into his shoulder. She hated the stupid clubs Simon's terrible band played at, but she came every time for him. She always would, no matter how bad the singer was.

"Thank you. It's a natural talent." And he snorted and threw an arm around her shoulders. They walked out together, into the cold night, their breath forming little clouds in the air.

"But really, Isabelle, I do. Not kidding. I love everything about you. I think…" He stopped, and swallowed. Isabelle suddenly felt her stomach drop. _No_, she thought. _No, please don't say it_. She knew what he wasn't saying, and it scared her. She really wasn't ready to hear those words.

Simon must have noticed her hesitation, because his expression changed, an odd mixture of relief and disappointment (and was that _hurt_?) flashing across his face. "I think…I'm lucky you haven't decided to break my heart yet. Because I wouldn't want to be like that poor schmuck back in there."

"Well, I'll keep you around. If you can keep up with me." Simon laughed as she ran towards the main street.

"Come on, Lewis. Show me what you got," she challenged, the streetlights making her skin glow. Simon had never seen anything more appealing in his life. Maybe she wasn't the most polite girl, but she was _his _girl. And he loved her, despite (or maybe because of) her bitchiness.

**A/N: This was icky to write. The song is so great (and it reminds me of Isabelle), but I was really struggling with all the language. I didn't want it to sound offensive or anything. On the bright side, I HAVE ALMOST 60 REVIEWS! Eeek! Thank you **_**so**_** much to xBlownxAwayx , SCawesome98, dewikaka, leasa1567, Lyza K, Antha32, and Blue eyed fantasies for the reviews! And don't worry guys, there will be chapters about everyone from Camille to Valentine. I am planning for this fic to be 100 chapters long, after all.**


	20. Gravity

"_You're neither friend nor foe, but I can't seem to let you go…All I know is you're keeping me down!"_

_-Sara Bareilles, Gravity_

**Maryse Lightwood, Pre-City of Bones**

Sometimes she wondered if she could ever be happy. She felt like a balloon that was weighed down with a thousand anchors—big ones, like her family and her work, and little ones, like the lines growing around her eyes and her growing insomnia. Lately, all she could do was dream about flying away. But there was no way to get rid of all the weight. Most of all, there was the complicated, painful, mess that was Robert. In her mind, he was the largest anchor of all. When she was younger, he had been solid, and steady, a welcome weight to keep her safe and grounded. She had needed him to temper her wild dreams of the Circle and the future and the world. And she had loved him. She _still _loved him. He had been her saving grace and the best thing that had happened in her life.

But now…she just didn't know. She couldn't decide how to feel. How could she simply _un_love him, after everything? She still melted into his embrace, and she still felt her own lips drifting into a smile when he focused his attention on her (though that was a rare occurrence—he never really _looked _at her anymore). He was not her enemy, he was her all. And yet...

He had broken her heart and betrayed her trust. He had blamed her and made her ashamed and small and hurt. He had treated her carelessly, and pulled her down. He was no longer the welcome steady presence she had loved, but a cold, indifferent dead weight. He was not her ally, he was her downfall. And yet…

She could not let him go, this aloof man who had once held her close and laughed with her. And Robert was so respected in the world—Alicante society loved him, and Maryse couldn't help but see why. Despite her desperate desire for freedom, she clung just as desperately to the memory of being centered and steadied by love (by Robert). And yet…

He held her down. She knew it. She knew that the little wrinkles and the cold, empty bed and the dark circles under her eyes were a product of his actions. If only she could let him go! If only she could be free! But she couldn't escape his gravity. It pulled her down lower than the ground under her feet, pulled her back to him even when she didn't want to be there. And even though he seemed to have let her go without a thought, she couldn't do the same.

**Hi guys! I want to do a weekly update so as to avoid long dry spells. Thanks SO MUCH to the wonderful, fantastic reviewers: Antha32, nevertrustaduck1 (love the username!), Wolf Moon Diamond, dewikaka, shylit, and missy1234567890! Please, please review! Also, everyone should go check out Antha32's Maryse story, partially inspired by this same song. It's a wonderful work.**

**Reviews are a longer Christmas Vacation! **


	21. In My Veins

"_Oh, you're in my veins, and I cannot get you out. Oh, you're all I taste at night inside of my mouth..."_

—_Andrew Belle, In My Veins _

**Jace Morgenstern, City of Glass**

"Over you? Clary, you think I'm _over you_?" He let out a strangled laugh, and his fingers twitched as though he would cup her face in his palms. Instead, he ran a hand through his tangle of gold curls. His eyes sought hers, and she couldn't seem to decide whether she wanted to look at him.

"Clary, you're all I can see. You—you, you're everywhere: inside me, through me. You're tattooed behind my eyelids, running through my veins. You're like a song I can't get out of my head, a taste I can't get out of my mouth. I can't think, I can't sleep, and _God_, Clary, I can't do anything!

"I am the furthest thing from 'over you.'" His eyes were deeper than the ocean, clearer than a sunny sky, his vulnerability exposed in a way that was so out-of-character for Jace. Clary remembered how she had first seen him, this calm, collected, arrogant boy. How he had seemed indestructible and cynical and so very different from the brokenhearted person who stood in front of her. But at that moment, she loved him more than she ever had before. She thought he was stronger for his vulnerability. And he was so beautiful, with those gold curls and the tan skin ribboned with thin white scars, with those sharp cheekbones and the golden eyes.

"I really don't think that sisters are supposed to feel this way about their brothers, but I _really _don't care." Her voice was rough, and then her mouth crashed against his and she was all he could taste—sweet, but not sweet, salty, but not salty, inside his veins and his heart and his soul. His hands found her face, thumbs tracing over her cheeks, and then one hand slipped around her neck, supporting her head.

"For the record, I'm not over you either," she gasped, her cheeks pink and her eyes shining.

"Good."

**A/N: Me: I'll update every week! World: AHAHA **_**No**_**! Between after-school violin rehearsals for the musical (Bye Bye Birdie, and the choir sucks as of now), Scholastic Bowl, Phantasm, Violin and Piano lessons, Ski and Snowboard Club trips, and all my classes (yeah, I even had gym homework last night. GYM homework!), I have had virtually no time. But thanks so, so much to my wonderful reviewers: Lyza K, dewikaka, and Antha32. I love you all! And this chapter gets a special shout out to Antha32, who not only introduced me to this song, but also gave me two great homemade CDs full of awesome music and new favorites. **

**Reviews are Saturday Ski Trips! **


	22. Love Me Dead

"_She moves through moonbeams slowly, she knows just how to hold me; and when her edges soften, her body is my coffin. I know she drains me slowly, she wears me down to bones…"_

_-Ludo, Love Me Dead_

**Magnus Bane, Pre-City of Bones**

If there was one thing Camille Belcourt was, it _wasn't _warm. She was beautiful and intelligent, manipulative and cool-headed, a fighter and a winner. Among other things, she was also a vampire—blood-sucking, immortal, only able to emerge at night. Magnus' on-and-off tryst with the vampire was a constant source of contradiction to the warlock. It was certainly _fun_. Camille knew what she was doing, and was fearless in bed. Of course, she could also be callous and cruel. He didn't expect anything different from her. He knew she wasn't looking for an emotional connection. But he wasn't really looking for another night of moonlight "fun", especially when it seemed to leave him emotionally exhausted.

She walked silent and light, her pale hair shining in the darkness, the contours of her body blurred by the soft half-light, her smooth white hands extended toward him in an invitation, promising beautiful, exciting things.

"I don't know what to do with you sometimes, Magnus Bane," she whispered, her voice clear even at a low volume. "I don't think you can give me what I want from you." There was something unusually sad in her voice. Magnus chose not to speak, wondering if perhaps she was remembering her former lover. He knew what had happened to the werewolf. He knew that Camille had cared for him far more than she ever did (or would) for Magnus. They were neither of them satisfied, but both of them lonely in a way they would never articulate to another soul. And that was why they continued their moonlight meetings.

But of late, there had been more tension, arguments, because Magnus was not like a subjugate, and would never let Camille have his will, despite how she wore him down. She said she liked his intelligence, but he knew she hated his independence. Magnus Bane was nothing if not independent, an individual who never strayed from his own path, despite where the crowds walked. Camille couldn't replace the missing Scott, and Magnus wasn't him.

And so she held him less and snapped at him more, and he laughed less and argued more, and they fell away as all nights do, into new days of possibility and freedom. But a part of them both would sometimes long for the night and the darkness of untold secrets and respected privacy and the moonlight.

**A/N: Thanks to my lovely reviewers, who I learned so much about from their last reviews ;): Lyza K, my fellow musician, Guest (Telephone Hour is possibly the catchiest song I have ever heard in my entire life), Antha32 my bestie, and dewikaka, my loyal reviewer, who always gives me the quickest reviews. I appreciate all of you so much! Ludo is probably some of the most out-there music I listen to, but I love their song "Goodwill Hunting" because it's honestly just hilarious. This was a lot more serious than I wanted it to be. Tech week is here, and I'm probably screwing myself over by spending 40 minutes on this, but oh well. I'd rather spend my time on this than on science homework.**

**Reviews are making delicious Pineapple Upside-Down Cake with your older brother!**


	23. Shake Rattle and Roll

"_Get out from that kitchen and rattle those pots and pans…Wearin' those dresses, your hair done up so nice…"_

_ -Bill Haley and the Comets, Shake Rattle and Roll_

**Isabelle Lightwood, City of Bones**

"Oh, God, Isabelle, please, I'm begging you, for the love of all that is good and holy, in Jesus' name…" Jace was on his knees in mock prayer, and Isabelle stared down at him, not amused. Her long dark hair was pulled into a bun at the nape of her neck, somehow managing to look casual, elegant and beautiful all at once, and she was tapping her foot.

"Careful, Jace, wouldn't want to blaspheme," she said, arching one dark eyebrow. Jace had now launched into a litany of the saints.

"And for the sake of St. Alphonsus, Isabelle, _stay out of the kitchen_," he then proceeded to laugh so hard he was almost in tears.

"I can't believe you know all those saints. What do you do, Jace, memorize hymnals for fun or something?" Alec was laughing, too, as Isabelle's face turned stormy.

"You went through _all of that _to insult my _cooking_?" she cried, throwing her arms into the air.

"That's it! You're eating homemade fish stew for a week!" Jace threw himself at her feet melodramatically.

"No, please! For the love of St. Rita…" he couldn't stop laughing long enough to finish, and Isabelle fought off her own smile as she aimed a kick at his exposed midsection. Somehow, despite the fact that she was one of the proudest people she knew and Jace was insulting her, Isabelle couldn't help but be amused by her brothers. She brandished a frying pan from the kitchen at Alec, who was laughing so hard it was silent, his shoulders shaking in the armchair where he sat, his book forgotten.

"It isn't funny! My cooking is great!" But even she couldn't keep a straight face.

"Well, it's improving, at least," she amended. Jace let out a sound like a dying cat. Isabelle leaned against the wall, struggling to look severe.

"How am I going to get better if I don't practice, huh?" she asked, her hands on her hips.

"Well, you can practice all you want. Just not on us," Jace managed, sitting up again. Isabelle smacked him with the frying pan—hard enough to let him know that his humor was not appreciated, but not hard enough to really hurt.

"Your kitchen abuse includes physical violence _and _digestive torture!" cried Jace, and Isabelle sent him the most threatening look she could manage.

"Just wait, Jace Wayland. I'm going to get you one night. You _will_ regret this."

**A/N: Okay, I know that Isabelle probably wouldn't be this casual about cooking insults, but I wanted to write something not depressing, so, um…too bad. It's fanfiction. Three cheers for dewikaka, my only reviewer this chapter. This is for the ticking clock, who wanted Alec/Jace/Izzy banter. Don't worry guys, Malec is coming soon, and I'll get to all suggestions eventually. But ESPECIALLY if you review! I'm serious, for the average nerd like me (who doesn't do drugs) reviews are the biggest mood-boosters. **

**Reviews are strawberries dipped in Greek-yogurt-vanilla-Kefir-and-brown-sugar mixed together. It's actually amazing.**


	24. Glad You Came

"_The stars come out, and all that counts is here and now. My universe will never be the same—I'm Glad You Came …Now I'll take you by the hand, hand you another drink…"_

_-The Wanted, Glad You Came_

**Magnus Bane, City of Bones**

Living for eight hundred years can really put things into perspective. It can also give one a sense, a knowledge, of what is important. With enough life experience, it's easy to look at a night, to look at a place, to look at a person, and to realize, in one infinite instant, that this is a turning point, a knife's edge, and that the course of the world (your world) might be irrevocably altered, if you were to take the leap and plunge head-on towards the person—place—thing—whatever it happened to be.

Magnus Bane had become very good at identifying those things. And he almost always jumped toward them. So when a troupe of teenaged Shadowhunters (and at least one Mundie) entered the party he was hosting, and his eyes met a pair of timid (but curious) dark blue eyes—the same blue as a cloudless sky that had faded into a warm night—Magnus knew that this was one of those times. Shadowhunters could mean trouble, or they could be coming to crash the party. But Magnus didn't kick them out. He invited them in, because Clary Fray was with them, because the boy with the beautiful eyes was staring at him, because they _did _have an invitation, and because Magnus wasn't the sort to turn away guests that hadn't done anything wrong (yet). A joke, to the tense and beautiful one. A casual conversation with Clary. A once-over of the blonde—he was handsome, but blondes weren't really Magnus' type (not after Camille, at any rate).

A casual smile, an enthusiastic reciprocation from Blue-Eyes, a joke shared between the two of them that was funnier than it had any right to be. The smile from the other boy was shy, like it was still unsure of its acceptance. Magnus liked it. The arrogant blonde one made a mildly offensive (insofar as it was offensive to think that this teenager could threaten _him_) attempt at a threat, and Magnus found that it was only thoughts of the dark-haired one and the pitiable Clary Fray that kept him from getting rid of the amateur Shadowhunters. Because he recognized the moment, because he could let it pass him by.

So in one of the strangest first dates Magnus had ever had (and he had been on some pretty strange first dates), Clary, the blonde, and the beautiful one joined him in his room to try and figure out Clary Fray's little brain and her partial amnesia. Of course, as far as first dates went, usually he didn't end up with whiny extras, sharing bits of his past, the cynicism of an 800-year-old warlock, and the pages of his Book of Gray. And yet…he felt like he would go on a second date. Even if it meant a third (and a fourth, and a fifth) wheel. Besides, he _had _had the opportunity to corner the Shadowhunter for a few minutes, and that had been worth it. It was enough to pass over an un-enchanted non-alcoholic drink to the straight-laced boy, to pass along a phone number and a wink, before they were interrupted by the whiny Shadowhunters. And their pet rat. Mundie. Whatever.

He recognized the special moments. There was something about those blue eyes and that timid smile that made Magnus feel the way he hadn't in a long time. And no matter what else happened that night, he was glad (very glad) that the boy came.

**A/N: #meh**

**I'm no good at Malec. Give me Simabelle any day. But I kind of felt an obligation. Anyway, thanks so much to my lovely and inspirational reviewers, Mads-hatter-15 (haven't seen you in a while ****), dewikaka, to infinity and beyond, and gurl-with-a-love-of-literature. Reviews are motivators! PLEASE, I'm not above begging.**

**Lol, whatever.**

**Reviews are fresh-baked sugar cookies (because you're all sooo sweet). Happy Valentine's Day!**


	25. Free Fallin

"_She's a good girl, loves her mama…and I'm a bad boy. _

_All the vampires…standing in the shadows…_

_Gonna free fall, out into nothing…now I'm free, free fallin'…"_

_-Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers, Free Fallin'_

**Jace Wayland, City of Bones**

She looked so small, frightened but fierce, her hand held protectively over the rat in her pocket. Jace struggled with the ignition, trying to focus on the imminent danger and not Clary's twig-thin arms wrapped around his waist (warm) or her panicked heartbeat behind his shoulder (fast) or her breath on the back of his neck (altogether too distracting). Werewolves had followed them onto the roof, and vampires lurked below in the shadows of the hotel. Now was not the time to worry about Clary. But she was so _good_. She would do anything for the stupid little rat Mundie or for her missing mother. And he was…well, he was bad for her. He had almost gotten her killed a dozen times since they had met. And still her arms wound around his abdomen and clutched him tightly, like he was a lifeline, like he meant safety.

Jace revved the engine and shot off the top of the building, and the motorcycle free fell into the vast emptiness of the sky, lit by the city and the stars. Behind him, Clary screamed, whether from terror or exhilaration Jace had no idea. He whooped, angling the bike upward, stopping their heart-pounding descent. They were falling upward now, towards stars that Jace knew were there, even if they were obscured by the city's light pollution. Behind them, vampires on the top of Hotel Dumort watched them go, and Jace felt truly and wonderfully free. It was just him and Clary, falling into the endless sky, and it didn't matter that she was all too good for him.

"My mother always told me if I rode a motorcycle with a boy, she'd kill me," Clary shouted over the sound of the rushing wind and the motorcycle's engine. Jace laughed, struck once again by her innocence. He got the feeling that he was the first (the only) boy who had ever done anything daring with Clary, and the thought made him happier than he could have imagined.

"She wouldn't say that if she knew me. I'm an excellent driver." Jace's voice was nothing but confidence, and he was almost drunk on the feel of her arms and the sky and the night. Look down, Clary. It's beautiful. See the city lights? Look out, Clary. It's perfect. See how the river glitters? Look at me, Clary. I think I'm falling into you. For you. With you. And it feels like freedom.

**A/N: Hi everyone, sorry for my long absence. I actually kind of love this one, but maybe just because I'm in love with this song. It takes me back to being a little kid and jumping on my Uncle David's bed to this song and others, back when I listened to records with my dad and sat in full cars of Simons shouting the lyrics to Billy Joel's "Pianoman" with my cousins. I've been feeling really nostalgic lately. I miss those days. Before I get even more unbearably sappy, thanks ever so much to my wonderful readers and reviewers: Guest (Samantha) and Mads-Hatter-15. Everyone should take a leaf out of their book and review, review, REVIEW!  
**

**Reviews are old playlists of Billy Joel and Tom Petty and Simon & Garfunkel and Jimmy Buffet and Elton John and Eddy Grant and Johnny Cash and every other wonderful, nostalgic artist I listened to as a kid with my dad and my uncles!**


	26. Just a Dream

"_It was two weeks after the day she turned 18…Baby why'd you leave me, why'd you have to go? I was counting on forever, now I'll never know. This can't be happening to me. Everybody's saying he's not coming home now. I can't even breathe…this is just a dream…"_

_-Carrie Underwood, Just a Dream_

**Celine Herondale, Pre-City of Bones**

His face was a mask of tragedy. Of all the faces, the different expressions of pity or sympathy, his was the only one she really saw. His mouth was moving, forming words, words she couldn't hear because the words she had just heard were echoing too loudly in her head.

_ Stephen died bravely, Celine. A warrior's death. We're so sorry for your loss—it was a loss to all of us as well. He's not coming home. He's not coming home. He's not coming home. He's not—_

But of course he was coming home. This wasn't real. It couldn't be happening. It was some kind of dream—some kind of nightmare. He wouldn't have died, not on some stupid routine vampire raid. He wouldn't have _left _her! He _loved _her! They had celebrated her birthday just two weeks ago, and he had kissed her and rubbed her swollen belly and whispered that he loved her so much. _So much_. People didn't leave the ones they loved. (But they did). A dull, painful ache began to spread through her body, past her stomach and her heart, constricting her throat. She was only eighteen, too young to lose him. And she loved him with the all-consuming adoration of the young, the kind that left no room for logic or thought or practicality. And so she knew, of course, that he couldn't be gone. They would have forever together, like she'd dreamed. This _wasn't happening_. She nodded solemnly, calmly, to Valentine. She only wanted to get her things before she viewed the body. She ascended the staircase slowly, her mind far, far away. With Stephen.

And then it struck her that this was only a dream. If she were only to wake herself, she'd be with Stephen. She had only to let go of the miserable pretense of this world and she would be eternally happy. Her breath hitched, breaking her dreamlike calm for the first time. She entered the familiar space of the room she and Stephen shared, breathing in his lingering scent, pine and ink and fresh linen, seeing his shadow in every corner. She had potions to help her with the baby cramps. She downed one, then two, off her bedside table, desperately hoping they would numb the growing pain inside of her. They did nothing. The pain pushed its way through her, fighting to escape, to break free of her fragile body. It would be so easy to just let it out, to shed the confining skin that held it in, to wake from this terrible nightmare. Stephen kept Seraph blades—angel blades—in their room. Her fingers grasped the tip of one of his matched pair. She pulled it out of its glassy sheath, and it began to glow dully in her hand. She sank onto the bed she shared with Stephen, poising the tip of the seraph blade against the almost-translucent white skin of her wrist. Stephen's delighted laugh echoed in her ears, his phantom arms encircled her waist. Just a few minutes more, and the phantom arms would be real. Outside, the sun was rising, turning the sky red, pink, orange, gold, illuminating her silhouette and the sharp curve of the Seraph blade.

She opened her left wrist, slicing through the thin skin easily. She didn't even feel it—perhaps it was the potions, perhaps it was because she was only dreaming. Red welled to the surface, spilling out of her far too quickly. Her hand was weak, but the angel blade was so sharp that she was able to maneuver, to cut her other wrist as well, deeply enough that she felt it, despite shaking hands and wobbling wrists. The pain left the rest of her body, flowing like blood to her wrists, and she fell backwards onto her bed, faint from the loss of blood. Now she could feel it, feel it like the tears that were dripping out of the corners of her eyes. A sick sort of satisfaction filled her in place of the pain. She was so close, so very close to him. And then her eyes fluttered closed for the last time, and she slipped across the veil between life and death.

**A/N: And on that cheery note…thanks a million to my lovelies: Mads-hatter-15, Antha32, and dewikaka. ALL REVIEWS ARE WONDERFULLY APPRECIATED AND MOTIVATING. I love it when I get favorites, but I wish you guys would also just drop me a line or two about anything. Criticism? Advice? Suggestions? Also, I wish I knew that my old followers were keeping up. Are you guys still out there? I hope I got the creepy feel right in this chapter. This song is perfect for Celine, I think. I got my info from the extra "Jocelyn's Story" on Cassia Clare's website. **

**Reviews are hilarious Improv Shows!**


	27. Pieces

"_Oh, it feels like I can finally rest my head on something real, and I like the way it feels. Oh, it's as if you know me better than I ever knew myself, and I love how you can tell…"_

_-Ashlee Simpson, Pieces_

**Jocelyn Fray, Pre-City of Bones**

"Go on, sweetheart," Jocelyn encouraged, nudging a shy Clary toward the swings. Clary hung back, trying to hide behind her mother's legs. Luke laughed and took her hand.

"Come on, Clary. I'll push you all the way up to the sky," he said, and Clary willingly left the safety of Jocelyn for the promise of high-flying with Luke. Jocelyn gave a sad, wobbly sort of smile and took a seat on the nearby bench, keeping the swings in full view (always in full view). Clary was shrieking with laughter as Luke pushed her higher, higher, but never too high, and performed an "underdog!" When Clary was safely swinging, practicing her own knees-in, legs-out, learning to propel herself, Luke joined Jocelyn on the park bench, and the two sat in an easy silence.

Beside her, Luke was a steady, comforting presence, solid as a rock. He was always there. He checked her when she went wrong and supported her when she needed to make difficult decisions. She laid her head on his shoulder, watching Clary's bright red hair, and spoke softly to him.

"Luke…I, well, I just want you to know that I'm happy you came here for me. I would never be this happy without you. And you've been invaluable helping to me with Clary and you just…steady me. Thank you, Luke." He wrapped an arm around her waist. His face was a mess of emotions—hope and pain in equal measure—but Jocelyn never looked up. She never saw the emotions, but then again, she had always been blind to him.

"I could never have left you, Jocelyn. You were—are—my best friend." His voice twisted a little on the word 'friend' but she didn't hear it, or perhaps she pretended not to. Feeling attracted to Luke or getting romantically involved with him might ruin the beautiful relationship that existed with him, and she couldn't afford to do that. She _needed _him. He was the tether that connected her to the world, that kept her from losing herself. He was the connection to her old identity, which, despite what she always claimed, she couldn't and wouldn't forget. He knew her inside out. They had been best friends since childhood, and Jocelyn, for all her independence, couldn't live without him. He knew when she was wrong, when she was upset, when she wanted something. He understood all the things she could not articulate, and he accepted her picky, broken mess of forgetting and remembering as whole and beautiful. He could always _tell_, and for that she loved him.

So she hugged her "friend" and they watched her daughter—_their_ daughter, in everything but blood—swing on her own, and they continued to walk the half-line of love and loss, of unmade promises and unspoken words.

**A/N: This was supposed to be fluffy. I guess it didn't really work that way. Um. Oh well. Three cheers for having a snow day, though! Ten cheers for my awesome regular reviewers, the magnificent Antha32, dewikaka and Mads-Hatter15. I'd love to get some new voices in my inbox, though. You know me. I'm a little desperate. No big deal.**

**I've got some Jordan, some Isabelle, and some Valentine (woohoo!) planned for the near future, so hang in there with me!**

**Reviews are lazy days and Agatha Christie!**


	28. What I've Done

"_So let mercy come and wash away What I've Done. I face myself, cross out what I've become. Erase myself, and let go of What I've Done."_

_-Linkin Park, What I've Done_

**Jordan Kyle, Pre-City of Bones**

Oh, God. What had he done? _What had he done_? He saw Maia, standing illuminated in the light of the full moon, her dark curls and curvaceous silhouette outlined by the brightness. She stepped off the street, and he was there. Her mouth opened and she was screaming, screaming, screaming, and suddenly her face began to change, elongating into a snout. Her eyes remained round and human: Maia's looking at him with hatred, desperation, and fear. Somehow, she was forming words.

_Look what you've done! Look what I've become!_

Jordan jolted upright in bed, his hands outstretched, grabbing a fistful of his roommate's t-shirt. Eric was the second roommate Jordan had lived with that month, after Dean never returned from an assignment. Eric was a Praetor already, but he was only a few years older than Jordan. His own roommate had left to join a pack somewhere in Manhattan.

"Whoa, dude. I'm not going to hurt you. You were screaming something like "Meyer", or something." Jordan let go of Eric's shirt, and scooted back until he was leaning against his headboard. His forehead was damp with sweat and his breathing was rapid.

"Oh, shit. Sorry, man. I'm fine. Thanks for waking me." Eric retreated to his own bed, his eyes still fixed on Jordan.

"Anytime. So…what was it? Was Meyer the one who turned you?" Jordan looked down, unable to meet the eyes of the other boy.

"No. No, it wasn't. It was Maia, and, well, she didn't turn me. I turned her," his voice was halting and full of shame, trailing off into a whisper. Jordan had never hated anyone more than he hated himself then. He wanted to disappear, to die, to erase himself and the consequences of his actions.

"I turned her. I _ruined_ her. And I can't even apologize." His tone turned bitter, and Eric looked down, too. He was no good at chick-flick, emotional moments. He scratched the back of his neck, feeling awkward, but pitying the other boy.

"Dude—uh, Jordan—that sucks. I know it does. But you gotta let go, you know? Like, maybe you hurt her, but hurting yourself isn't going to make it better. Pain, shame, guilt, whatever you feel, it's like any other obstacle. The next level of a game, or the target in the training room. You have to face it, and then you have to beat it, and then you have to move on. It doesn't mean you forget it. It would be stupid if we forgot every bad thing we ever did or every lesson we ever learned. But it means you don't let it consume you. You're part of Praetor Lupus now, and we're bigger than our screw-ups. There's always going to be another test, another challenge, but you can't let it make you someone else. Look, I know what I'm talking about. I used to be part of a pack. We thought we were so cool. I dared my _best_ _friend_ to go into a Vampire's lair. He never came out. God, I was so stupid. That's why I left the pack and came here. I couldn't live with them after that. And I struggled with myself for _years_ before I came to terms with my past. So, I'm telling you, if you want to avoid that kind of thing, face it and walk away from it. Remember Maia, and learn from it. Let the experience make you into a _better _person, not a tormented person." He cleared his throat, self-conscious. Jordan was looking at him, admiration and something like hope shining in his eyes.

"That's probably the most inspiring thing I've ever heard," he teased, his mouth curling into a smile. But beneath the joke, he was processing and turning over the other boy's words in his mind.  
"Shut up." The two shared a moment of mutual understanding and turned away from each other. Girls would have hugged and probably cried, but they weren't girls. So Jordan didn't thank him, and Eric didn't expect him to. But they both knew that it had meant something, and both slept easier after.

**A/N: Lol, it sounds like they're falling in love. Don't worry, they don't hook up ;). Anyway, I really wanted to do a Jordan chapter, for SCawesome98, who this chapter is dedicated to. If you're still reading, SCawesome98, I hope you enjoy this! And also, kisses to my reviewers, dewikaka, Mads-hatter-15 and Guest. Reviews are much appreciated, guys! I'm serious!**

**Reviews are blueberry and chocolate-chip pancakes!**


	29. Should've Said No

"_Was it worth it? Was she worth it? No... You should've said no."_

_-Taylor Swift, Should've Said No_

**Isabelle Lightwood, Post-City of Lost Souls***

She stared at him. He stared back. They were so opposite in some ways, similar in others. Her father was burly and strong; a bear of a man. She was tall and slender, more like a cat—but a tall cat. She got that from her mother—like most of her features. But there was something of her father in the shape of her face, in the set of her mouth. Both of them had stubborn fire in them, fire that Maryse had as well.

"You're unbelievable," she spat, trying to burn him up with the force of her glare, trying to make him physically react to the intensity of her anger.

"You are a child. Sit down, Isabelle, and don't speak to me that way. I don't understand what this is about, but I am your father and I deserve your respect." His tone was commanding, and Isabelle tried to resist the urge to put her head down and sit. He was her father, and she was used to taking orders from him. But this needed to be said.

"Do you? After what you did to Mom?" A wealth of emotions flickered across his face—comprehension, guilt, shock, grief, anger.

"Don't talk about things you don't understand, Isabelle. I meant it when I said I was back for good. I'm trying, damn it. You never knew Idris, and I will forever be guilty and I will forever pity you, because Idris is _home_ and this is not home and you will never _have _it. You cannot understand the pain of losing it, and what I did to deal with the pain. You will never live in the Glass City because of the deplorable actions taken by," and he paused for a moment, giving Isabelle the impression that he had changed what he was about to say. "Valentine," he said. For a moment, Isabelle thought he would go on. Instead, he gave her a hard look, and she tried to keep her face an even mixture of boredom and impatience.

"So what? This is _my_ home, and honestly, Idris wasn't that great. Besides, that's not an answer. How could you possibly do that? Aren't you supposed to be a role model for me? For Alec? Tell me something, _Dad_: was it worth it? Was she worth it? Was Annamarie Highsmith worth breaking mom's heart and screwing up my life and all the guilt I hope to God you feel?" Her words were like daggers, but Robert was used to daggers; he was a Shadowhunter.

"Don't you dare, Isabelle Sophie Lightwood! Don't you _dare_! I said I was home for good, and I am. Don't think to question me on the past, on what is done. Don't presume to understand how Maryse felt, how I feel!" His voice was raised, now, and Isabelle was leaning toward him angrily, blue eyes flashing.

"You should have said no. You should've said _no_, damnit! You should've stayed with us, because we were your family and you can't turn your back on your _family_! And I'll never, _ever _forgive you for it!" She whirled around and stalked away, head held high, refusing to let him see that she was close to crying. She never cried. Her father called after her, but she was done. She was done with him and with the whole damn situation. _God, why hadn't he said 'no'?_

**A/N: *This didn't happen, it's not strictly canon, and I know that's how a bunch of my chapters are, but this one's actually taking liberties in such a way that would affect Heavenly Fire if it came out. But I wanted to write it anyway. ALSO EDIT EDIT EDIT: I changed the first paragraph, as my Guest reviewer informed me that it was not actually correct. So I just invented a different similarity which I hope hasn't also been refuted by the series. :) **

**Um, even though it's kind of not-believable. I just really wanted to get something out there for you guys, cause I know it's been a while. Thanks, as always, to my wonderful reviewers. I'd love to get new voices in my inbox, guys! But I love hearing from my regulars, as well. Sam, Mads-hatter-15, dewikaka, StarStruck99 (I'll try to find a song and add it to the queue), and SCawesome98 (glad you liked it, and thanks so much for reviewing my other stories, too!), you guys are the best and all deserve homemade cookies!**

**Also, not to make a shameless plug or anything (okay, this is a shameless plug), but if any of you guys are Hunger Games fans, you should check out my one-shots from last year. The March 2012 one, Drip, Drip, Drip actually won, and the April 2012 one didn't, but I'd love to get feedback on anything from any of you.**

**Reviews are SPRING BREAK! **


	30. Architects

"_Would you care to be the layer of the bricks that seal your fate, or would you rather be the architects of what we might create? Don't you remember when we were young, how we wanted to set the world on fire? Somewhere deep down, I know you do!"_

_-Rise Against, Architects_

**Valentine Morgenstern, City of Ashes**

"Maryse. You are here again—to join me? To join those who work against me? Why? To keep the Clave, rotting in its own ignorance, its own inability to change and shape itself to the challenges faced now by the Shadowhunters, in power? Maryse, they don't need to be in power. They are corruption, the creeping decay of slow time and slow ideas, the lazy solutions of "friendship" with the filth that we were meant to wipe away from the world, the creeping decline of Shadowhunter strength. Are you telling me, Maryse Lightwood, my second-in-command, once ablaze with passion and ideology and full of plans for a new world—a better world—that you have become _one_ of these leaders?" Maryse's breath caught. Valentine's face was still familiar, after all these years, his voice still persuasive, his message still enthralling, painting a beautiful picture of a beautiful world, one cleansed of filth and reborn into a new age. It was almost possible to see his vision. But she wouldn't—she couldn't.

"Maryse, Maryse, what happened to you? You were to be on top of the world, the architect of an entire movement, and now…well, now you stay where the Clave tells you to stay, you talk when the Clave tells you to talk, you live how the Clave tells you to live. You used to want to set the world on _fire_. Can you really say you have given up on all of that? Deep down, I know you're still the way you were, the confident, capable, _strong_ Shadowhunter I once called friend."

Maryse opened her mouth but nothing came out.

"You're mad," she finally said, struggling to keep her voice even. Valentine looked genuinely sad.

"No. No, Maryse. And you used to be as revolutionary as I am. You used to care. Now, you've been compressed into a shell of yourself, suffocated by regulation and rules. I just want you to know, Maryse, that I have considered you in the new world. One day, when I have created the vision we once shared, maybe I will make room for you. But maybe not. Maybe your fire is out, and there's no place for a person like that in my world.

But I'll offer you one more chance. Are you brave enough to take it? Brave enough to be the Architect of a new world? Or will you just lie down and let the Clave dictate your decisions, let your children run amok among the filthy Downworlders, and let them risk their _lives_ by letting them consort with vampires and warlocks?"  
That was enough for her. More than enough.

"My children? My _children_? They're in more danger from you than any Downworlder!" She shook her head, feeling cold all over.

"You are _never_ going to create this world, and I would _never_ be part of it even if you could." There was no doubt, no hesitation, inside her.

**A/N: Okay, guys, this was hard to end, because I really wanted it to be about Valentine's pitch rather than Maryse's reply. ALSO THIS SONG IS FREAKING AMAZING I'M CRAZY ABOUT IT. And the entire song is perfect for Valentine. Is it awkward, then, that I love it so much? I mean, I guess the ideas of political change can be positive or negative depending on the character they're applied to, and I guess I have a less destructive personality than Valentine.**

**On another note, thanks for those who reviewed! Love as always to Mads-Hatter-15, Guest (by the way, I changed the previous chapter), Clace13, DemigodsRule, and Dewikaka. I love love love you guys!  
Reviews are San Francisco!**


	31. I Hate Myself for Losing You

"_I hate myself for losing you. I'm seeing it all so clear…what do you do when you look in the mirror and staring at you is why he's not here?"_

_-Kelly Clarkson, I Hate Myself for Losing You_

**Alec Lightwood, Post-City of Lost Souls**

Another day. Another hour. Another shade of grey. Another morning, another meal, another arrow in the bulls-eye. Another book, another line, another word, but he couldn't even finish the page because he kept rereading the same line, the same word, until it lost its meaning and was just a strange sound. Another. Another. Another. And when he finally read the whole line, and the next, he couldn't remember a thing, because "another" kept echoing in his brain. _Another chance_. He slammed "The Brief History of Early Nephilim" shut, and shoved himself out of the armchair. He didn't _have_ another chance. He had screwed up, and there was never going to be another chance, or another kiss, or another laugh. He didn't want to do anything, so he retreated into his room to sleep. Sleep made the time pass faster. Usually, he didn't bother to change out of his clothes, but he was still wearing his gear from practice that morning. But opening the closet required looking in the mirror that hung inside the closet door, and Alec couldn't handle the mirror. He was a coward, so the gear joined the piles of clothing on the floor. But, because he was compulsively neat, and disgusted by his own cowardice, he knew he had to open the door anyway and face it. Face himself.

It didn't matter to him if there were bags under his eyes—which there were; large and bruise-like—or if his hair was sticking up all over his head. He wasn't worried about looking good anymore. The reason he hated the mirror had nothing to do with his appearance and everything to do with his actions. When he looked in the mirror, he saw Alec Lightwood, the Boy Who Hurt Magnus and Lost His Chance Because He Was Selfish. It was like a knife in his gut to see his reflection, a reflection of everything he hated.

Why had he done it? Why couldn't he have trusted Magnus, or been satisfied to have at least a short life with him? What had he been _thinking_? To think that he would hurt—shorten the life of, change irreparably, betray—Magnus…it was unthinkable. It was terrible. It was a compilation of all his flaws, and it was staring at him in the closet door. Alec _hated _himself in that moment. They say hindsight is 20/20, and Alec certainly felt that way. At the time, full of confusion and resentment and jealousy, everything had been as muddled as if he had been looking through cloudy water. Now, his stupidity and his selfishness were abundantly clear. He hung his clothes—all of them, from the past week—neatly on their hangers, and his eyes indecisively skirted the mirror. _Look. You deserve all the pain. Don't look. It hurts too much. Look. You can't hide from your mirror forever. Don't look. You can _try_._

He looked. He saw himself, and he hated himself, and he broke the mirror. The glass fractured and fell, tinkling, to the floor. He pressed his fist, the edge of it scraped and glittering with miniscule shards of glass, to his face and shook.

**A/N: SORRY I know it's been forever, I still love all of you, I appreciate all of you so much, and I can't thank you enough if you've stuck with this story. 101 REVIEWS WHAT THE HECK I'M SO PSYCHED!**

**Three cheers for SCawesome98, dewikaka,Clace13 and Mads-Hatter15 for pushing me up over 100. I swear I'll update faster next time. EEEEK I'm so excited.**

**Reviews are **_**not**_** science exams and 6 hours of sleep a night.**

**Reviews **_**are**_** Magnus and Alec getting back together!**


	32. The Only Exception

"_And I've always lived like this, keeping a comfortable distance. And up until now I've sworn to myself that I'm content with loneliness...well you are the only exception. And I'm on my way to believing."_

_-Paramore, The Only Exception_

**Isabelle Lightwood, City of Lost Souls**

When Isabelle was a kid, she had taped photos of her family to her mirror. Among pictures of Alec, her whip, Max, Church, and Jace, there had been three photos of her parents. One was rather worn, taken at the New York Institute just after their arrival, featuring her parents standing together outside the doors of the enorm

ous Church. They didn't smile (to do so would have looked unnatural), but they clung to each other, and to Isabelle it had seemed that they needed each other so desperately that they couldn't bear to let go. There was a second photo, a photo of her father looking at her mother with a mix of pride and love, his features softened. And then there was a photo of her mother looking at her father, as he faced another direction, Maryse looking a little lost, caught in a moment of vulnerability. It had originally been a photo of Isabelle and Jace, but she had cut off that part and taped it separately, because she wanted a picture that focused on her mother. Those had been the only photographs she could find—cameras weren't used in Idris, and in the Institute, it was also rare to have access to such technology.

When Isabelle was thirteen, she burned the first two photos. Her mother told her about the affair, and Isabelle couldn't bear to have photographs of her parents together anymore. She watched with a straight face and hard eyes as the glossy paper dissolved into ash. She kept the third photo as a reminder; hearts were breakable, people were fragile, and loving someone outside of her family would inevitably result in the same loss and vulnerability that her mother had faced.

But now, she knew Simon. Now, things were different. Lines were messily drawn and half-shaded, and the easy black-and-white views of her childhood were being turned upside-down. It was no longer a choice between distance and pain. She'd always chosen distance, because it was comfortable, because it was safe. And she had thought that she was happy. She had Alec, Max and Jace, she had her whip and the passion of battle, she had physical romance and supreme self-confidence. What else could she possibly need?

She couldn't miss what she didn't have. But along came a Mundie (a nerdy one, at that), and everything started to fall apart. Because before she couldn't have missed the sound of her own spoken with a mixture of love and adoration and amusement and awe and exasperation—being spoken in a way that said "I know you and I know your faults, and you are beautiful, and I love you still," she couldn't have missed the feeling of waking up in the arms of a person who would never demand anything from her physically, she couldn't have missed the warmth that spread through her when he looked at her the way all girls wanted to be looked at, couldn't have missed the care with which he treated her, the unique sense of humor that was _Simon_, couldn't have missed everything, because she'd never had anything. Simon flipped her absolutes, and she found herself thinking that he was the only exception, because she knew, somehow, that he would never hurt her like her father had hurt her mother. She _knew_, in her bones, that he could never be anything but truly good, _knew _that he had given more of himself to her than she had given to him, and that he wouldn't snatch it back. And maybe, just maybe, Simon would turn her into a believer in love.

**A/N: It's been too long! I'm so sorry about the delay! Thank you so much for the incredible outpouring of support from everyone—I couldn't continue without my lovely reviewers, the ticking clock, krizue (and thanks for reviewing throughout the story), DemigodsRule (special thanks to you, too, for reviewing as you go), Antha32, dewikaka, Mads-hatter-15, SCawesome98, and MaiaIsabel. Please continue reviewing, it really does mean the world to me. I hope I can do better with giving consistent updates!  
**

**Reviews are Noodles & Co.!**


	33. I Will Follow You Into the Dark

"_You and me have seen everything to see, from Bangkok to Calgary, and the soles of your shoes are all worn down, the time for sleep is now, there's nothing to cry about, 'cause we'll hold each other soon."_

_-Death Cab for Cutie, I Will Follow You into the Dark_

**Magnus Bane, Post-City of Heavenly Fire**

Magnus wrapped a leather-clad arm around Alec's shoulders, watching the sun sink, blood-red, into the sea. Alec was leaning heavily on Magnus, his breathing labored, bleeding through the bandages on his side.

"I'll miss this," said Alec, his voice rough with pain and emotion. Magnus swallowed hard.

"Me, too. I'll miss everything. Scotland and New Delhi and Bangkok, Calgary and Venice and Germany. Everywhere. Here." They leaned on each other as the sky darkened, occasionally speaking, but mostly sitting in the most comfortable silence, a silence that spoke of companionship and love and acceptance.

"I'll miss you," Alec admitted, and Magnus tightened his hold on the other boy. There was a hitch in his breath as he struggled not to cry.

"I'll miss you, too. More than I can say." The words were woefully inadequate. The waves lapped at the shore, the sand cooled beneath their legs, the stars began to glow—first one, then two, then a thousand pinpricks of light struggling to illuminate the quickly-darkening sky.

"Don't cry," he whispered, half to himself, but he looked over and saw that Alec's face, too, was stained with tears. They reflected the fading light, shining on his cheeks.

"There's nothing to cry about. We'll be okay. We'll see each other again." Magnus tried to make himself believe the words, but it was hard. It was so hard, when Alec was dying and there was nothing he could do about it. He had tried so hard.

"I'm tired, Magnus," Alec whispered, and Magnus ran his hand up and down Alec's arm in a soothing manner.

"I know. I know. I'm tired, too. All that walking wore me down, wore you down. Remember when we walked through Prague all day, looking for those stupid gardens?"

"Remember when we had foot-races in Canada and you cheated?" Magnus tried to laugh, but it came out more like a sob.

"Remember when we got lost in Argentina and walked through the rainforest for five hours?"

Remember when you were healthy, and we were happy? Remember when we came home? Remember when you walked away from me (but I left you first)? Remember when you came back?

"I'm tired," he repeated. It seemed worth repeating.

"It's okay. Go to sleep. I'll stay with you. I promise."

**A/N: *Sniffle*. So, this scene isn't canon. In my imagination, Alec is dying and Magnus can't save him, and this is their goodbye. Also, I'm going to use this song three times—now, at chapter 66, and for the very last chapter, because I like it for all three of the major couples. Just a warning. And also, everyone should be happy because I updated so fast, even though this is really short. I didn't want it to feel fake. Tell me what you guys think! Did I get the emotions right? Also, check out this song, I love it so much.**

**Reviews are chocolate-covered-anything. **


	34. Angel With a Shotgun

"_Fighting 'till the war's won, I don't care if heaven won't take me back. I'd throw away my faith, babe, just to keep you safe. Don't you know you're everything I have?"_

_-The Cab, Angel with a Shotgun_

**Jace Herondale, City of Fallen Angels**

"I realize that this may or may not sound extremely blasphemous, but Clary, I always felt so alone, like if there was a God, he was too far away to see or help me. We are the Nephilim, literally the offspring of Angels, and I never once felt like I was being watched over by someone I didn't see. How is that even possible? But now, I don't feel alone. And it's not because of God. It's because of _you_, Clary. I put my faith in _you_, Clary, and I'd do anything to keep you safe. I don't care what I have to do. Because no matter what I decide, it always comes back to you. And I really don't care if this is wrong, because I've never felt anything so perfectly _good_ and right as what I feel with you." Clary felt a stinging sensation behind her eyes and knew she was going to cry. But she didn't want to cry. She threw her arms around him, and he met her embrace. Clary wanted to speak, but she knew that words would only ruin the moment. She had never been good enough with them, never charming and witty like Jace. She considered and discarded a thousand possibilities, from the simple to the elaborate, while she buried her face in his shoulder. He was shaking a little. She pretended not to notice. Instead, she rose onto her tiptoes to kiss him. In that moment, she didn't feel alone, either. And even if there were unanswered questions and difficult decisions ahead in their future, she knew, at least, that it would be _their_ future, Clary-and-Jace together. Because she was everything to him, and he was everything to her.

**A/N: Okay, probably the shortest one I've ever written. Oh well. I picture this as CoFA when Jace is **_**not **_**possessed, obviously. Also, okay, I'm kind of offended. I update TWICE in ONE DAY, and I get ZERO reviews all week? Hi, guys, I still exist. Please, I miss the happy feeling of a review alert in my inbox. **

**Reviews are potential booktubing videos from me and Sam (Antha32) which will hopefully come out soon! **


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